


Speculation

by Emanium



Category: DCU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:17:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8555272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emanium/pseuds/Emanium
Summary: Since Bruce adopted Dick, speculation has been rife in the media-- mostly unfavorable discussion about what the billionaire playboy may be doing to his nine-year-old ward behind closed doors. As always, Dick is curious.





	

Dick leaped off the top of the staircase, and for a moment dangled off the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. He landed gracefully before the kitchen.

"Good morning!" He announced, flashing a big grin at his audience.

"Master Richard." Alfred reprimanded, no doubt aimed towards the chandelier that was still swinging dangerously in the air.

Bruce paid little attention, both to the potential wreckage of his expensive furniture and to Dick's impressive landing. Like always he showed no hint of approval or disapproval. Except the fact that he was physically there was rewarding enough, considering his office hours began any time between three in the morning to three in the afternoon, as Dick had learned after a month of living with the CEO of Wayne Enterprises.

What caught Dick's eye, however, was Bruce putting away the morning papers a little hastily.

"What were you reading?" He asked, settling into the seat opposite Bruce. Alfred placed a steaming plate of pancakes at his front and poured him a glass of orange juice.

"Gotham Gazette." Bruce sipped on his coffee. "They reported a mugging last night. Downtown, not far from Wayne Tower."

"Huh." Dick forked a piece of pancake and said absentmindedly, "You should be more careful. You make a good target."

If Dick didn't know better, the curl of Bruce's lips hinted at amusement. "I do?"

"You're the richest man in Gotham. I've seen rich people get mugged."

"There are plenty of ways to destroy a man without it ever having to do with money." Bruce hummed thoughtfully. "But, if it concerns you, I have security measures in place that rival our national defence." He unfolded the papers carefully and flipped to another page. "In other news, Carl Thorne of Thorne Corp is still trying to frame me for tax evasion."

"For your sake, Sir, I certainly hope Mr Fox hasn't been avoiding the IRS."

Bruce cocked an eyebrow. "Thorne's been annoying at best. Never had any good strategies to begin with."

"Thorne? You mean Deb's Dad?" Dick looked up, recalling a lithe freckled girl in class. "I sit next to Deb in Literature. She's nice."

"It's a small world when you're enrolled in Gotham's best elementary school, Master Richard." Alfred reappeared from behind the counter to retrieve Bruce's empty cup. Then, ever so subtly, the butler took the papers from Bruce's hand, all the while hiding it from Dick's view with a towel. In fact, if Dick wasn't trained in the circus to catch the smallest of movements, he wouldn't have seen the exchange at all. "Your meeting with the board commences in ten minutes, Sir."

"In that case I'll be putting the Lamborghini to good use." Bruce said, earning a raise of eyebrows from Alfred. He rose and passed Dick on his way to the door. For a split second, Dick had a feeling that Bruce was going to pat him on the shoulder. It's not unusual- a casual fleeting touch- one that Bruce administered every once in awhile, especially when he was in a good mood. Dick relished in physical contact. He was touchy-feely himself, but he knew for Bruce the action had to be intentional. Bruce, if not in drunk socialite mode, took personal space very seriously. Yet for all that went through his mind, today Bruce reached out, and faltered. It was all within a heartbeat, and Bruce did nothing telltale enough for Dick to point a finger at. The man kept his hands to himself and said, "Have a good day, Dick."

"You too. Will you come back for dinner?"

Bruce turned and gave him a small smile. "We'll see."

* * *

Dick had all but forgotten about Bruce and Alfred's sneaky exchange, until something Bruce did triggered his memory.

It was a Saturday afternoon. He was studying for the upcoming revision test on Monday, when he got stuck on a question. Bruce was in his study, tackling work matters. Dick grew excited- this would be a good, somewhat-genuine excuse to find Bruce.

Like Bruce, who had crept up behind him on more occasions than any adult had ever managed, Dick was extraordinarily good at being stealthy. He opened the door without a sound and slipped in, noticing that Bruce had his back turned to him and was reading something intently. He was holding what looked awfully like the papers he snatched from the breakfast table that morning.

Dick moved closer. He noticed that Bruce's shoulders were tense. His entire posture spelled an emotion between aghast and distaste. So he peeked over Bruce's shoulder, frowning as he caught a glimpse of the headlines.

"How do you pronounce that?" Dick pointed at the heading. "Ped-doe-file?"

He wasn't prepared for Bruce to nearly jump out of his seat, clutching the papers so tightly his knuckles were white. "Dick?" He spluttered.

"Oops." Dick grinned sheepishly. "Sorry to startle you."

Bruce took a deep breath and shielded the papers from Dick's view again- a move that didn't go unnoticed. "I thought you were studying."

"I was." Dick held up his textbook. "Then I got stuck, so I came here to get help. You were so engrossed in that," he nodded at the papers. "That you didn't notice me coming in."

"Most people knock."

"So what does pedophile mean?" Dick pointed at the papers. Bruce tensed. "They call you that."

"It's a false allegation."

"A false-?"

Bruce sighed. "It's not true. Reporters speculate. The public speculates. At the end of the day, they're just rumors. Gossip. In bad taste, no less."

"Speculate." Dick repeated.

"Conjecture. Theorize." Bruce rephrased, but the look of confusion remained on Dick's face. His shoulders slumped. "Make up stories that are untrue, that are not backed by factual evidence."

"Right. So what are the stories? What are people making up?" Dick pressed. He had to make a conscious effort to hide his grin, because never had Bruce been so flustered in a conversation. "Why are you so reluctant to tell me what it means? They even have a picture of us plastered on the front page. Does it have anything to do with me?"

"Hardly. It's mostly on me." Bruce rubbed his temples wearily. "It's complicated, and frankly, quite offensive. You'll understand when you're older. What's your question?" He gestured at Dick's textbook.

Dick took one last look at the papers. It was wrinkled and torn in Bruce's strong grip. He laid out his textbook. "Chapter 2.6. It's this step that I find confusing…"

* * *

Alfred always dropped him off and picked him up at the school gate, so Dick never really had a chance to explore the neighborhood. Today he sought to break that rule.

He managed to sneak out during lunch hours to the nearest suburb, and found himself a good hamburger place. On his way back to school, he spotted a newspaper stand. On every rack were covers featuring him and Bruce.

"Woah."

He couldn't say he wasn't flattered by the attention- he had always enjoyed being on stage, always welcomed the spotlight. Dick leaned in closer to scan the headlines.

'Socialites convinced that the notorious Prince of Gotham is bedding his underage ward.' The front cover of Gotham Gazette was a shot taken during a recent charity ball. There was a big red circle drawn over Bruce's hand on Dick's shoulder.

Distractedly Dick reached up to his shoulder, remembering that night, reliving the lingering touch of Bruce's hand. The gentle pressure on his skin, the protective stance Bruce took in front of the paparazzi, holding Dick close as if the flash of a camera could harm him. It wasn't a bad memory.

'Fact or fiction: adopted orphan Dick Grayson is Bruce Wayne's newest boy toy,' another paper read. Dick flipped it open. He encountered the word 'pedophile' again- it was used generously in the first paragraph. The language was beyond him, so he flipped to another page, landing on a full page picture of his own grinning face. It was captioned, 'Innocent and naive: subject to a man that fits the very profile of a child offender, what is an orphaned, financially dependent child to do?'

"Pay or walk away, son." A grumpy old man appeared from behind the rack and shooed him away. Dick replaced the paper onto the rack and left.

When he got back to class, his mind was still on the odd headlines. Deb was doodling in the neighboring seat. He sank into his seat with a loud thump.

"Dick! Where have you been? I didn't see you at the cafeteria."

"Went out for lunch. There's a hamburger place ten minutes away."

Deb glanced at him. "Are you okay?"

"I guess, why?"

Deb shrugged. "You look shaken."

Dick shook his head and laid down on his arms. He picked up a pen and started doodling next to Deb's drawings.

"I don't understand. What's so wrong about bedding someone if that someone makes me feel safer and less lonely at night?" He muttered softly. "Is it worth printing on every newspaper in Gotham- what people do in their own privacy, if it does them good? Is it worth so much-" He tried the word on his tongue. "-speculation?"

He didn't pay attention to how long the silence lasted, until Deb asked, "Are you talking about Bruce Wayne?"

Dick looked up briefly. "You know?"

"Of course I do, Dick. My parents, heck, even my grandparents know. Everyone in this school knows you have a super rich stepdad. With a background like that, you either become the hot topic for gossip or you get seriously bullied for." Deb looked around and lowered her voice, a tad conspiratorially. "Hey, I didn't know you slept with him."

"Just sometimes. When I get nightmares." Dick looked away. "I think it's comforting."

"Is it," Deb was still staring at him.

"What class do you have after lunch?" Dick changed the topic.

"Double art."

"Good for you, my maths test is next. Bruce is picking me up after and taking me to the history museum. I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Sure." Deb held his hand briefly. Then she grabbed her art case and fled.

* * *

Dick's revision test was going extremely smooth. He didn't spend all those hours revising for nothing, and he got Bruce's help with the last chapter. He was up to the last question when the vice principal knocked on their classroom door.

The woman stepped inside and exchanged a few curt words with his maths teacher. She followed his guide to Dick's desk.

"Are you Mr Richard Grayson?" She crouched down to his level. When Dick nodded, she mustered a tight smile. "Please come with me. I would like to speak to you in private."

The situation was only vaguely confusing to Dick. He followed the vice principal to her office, unsure of what would follow. Then everything escalated. A few cops filed into her room, followed by a plump man in a suit. The vice principal looked as startled as Dick was.

"Someone tell me what exactly is going on here- Carl?"

Dick remembered seeing the same man wearing a particularly bitter expression at the last charity ball he attended.

"Weeks of reading it in the news, Linda, and now we have the definite proof that will crush Wayne's empire! Coming from the boy's own mouth!"

"What Deborah claimed Richard has said is alarming, but it is just a claim. I need to ask questions of a sensitive, probing nature, and this-" She gestured around her office, frowning at the uninvited guests. "-is not the environment for it!"

"We don't need to ask questions. The world is convinced that that is exactly what's been happening, and Wayne's reputation precedes him. Arrest the man and all will fall into place."

"That's ridiculous, Carl. Innocent until proven guilty."

"What is happening?" Dick asked above the chaos.

The man gloated at him. "We will need your cooperation from hereon, son." He turned to the window. "Oh, and if that Lamborghini that just pulled up the parking lot doesn't belong to Bruce Wayne, I'll give half my money to charity. Come on, boys."

The cops followed him out. Dick's first reaction was to follow, but when the door slammed into his face he turned to the window. His vice principal grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye. At that point he was genuinely afraid.

"Richard, we're here to listen, but we can only help you if you speak the truth."

"I don't understand, what's going on? Where are they going? What has this got to do with Bruce?"

Behind him, the cops approached the Lamborghini. Bruce stepped out of the car, frowning and confused.

"Your classmate Deborah spoke of an incident that concerned us. A disturbing, perhaps emotionally marring incident that you would not like to recall. She said that you have a sexual relationship with your guardian."

Dick stared at his vice principal with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He might not have known those slangs in the papers, but sex he knew of, and he had a vague idea that it was prohibited and punishable. He also had a feeling that his next words should be chosen with extreme care.

"You are under arrest," Carl called outside, and Dick didn't hear because the window was shut.

His vice principal glanced at the window behind him and back to his face, her eyes betraying her frustration. "I need a very firm answer from you, Richard. Do you know what sex is?" At his quick nod, she continued, "Then have you ever had sex with your guardian? Whether forced or consensual, for whatever reason, has it happened before?"

"Carl Thorne. Why am I not surprised?" Bruce mused as he was pressed against his car. "And may I ask what for?"

"Child sexual abuse, Wayne. You've finally done it." Carl sneered. "I was so shocked to hear that from your ward."

Bruce glanced at the second floor window, at the familiar silhouette of a child standing next to a woman. "I see."

Back in the office, the vice principal probed, "Well?"

"No," Dick stammered, pushing the syllable past his quivering lips. He balled his hands into fists and stated, "That has never happened before. Never! How did you people even come to that conclusion?"

* * *

Dick heard Bruce's car pull up, the door opening and shutting, and then footsteps resounding across the manor.

It was two in the morning. Dick himself spent a few hours with investigators who, for lack of a better word, interrogated him until sundown. The questions had so much detail that the imagery those words conjured haunted him more so than the incident itself. Thankfully Alfred had come for him.

"Is he still awake?"

"I believe so, Sir."

"When did they let him out?"

"Seven. A Mr Carl Thorne was particularly insistent that he interrogate the boy himself. I intervened, of course."

"Thank you."

"It was no way to treat a child. Shame on them adults."

"Rest well, Alfred. I'll talk to him."

The footsteps came to a stop outside his room. Bruce knocked and turned the knob. "Dick."

Dick huddled himself tighter in his sheets. "I'm sorry."

Bruce didn't turn on the lights. He stood leaning against the closed door. "Don't be."

"You're not mad at me?" Dick glimpsed back. In the dark, it seemed that Bruce was watching him as he slowly shook his head.

"Carl Thorne is eager to frame me and will have done it one way or the other. Your statement was just a convenient excuse."

Dick looked away. "I'm sorry that I became his convenient excuse."

"Nothing happened. They let me go. Lack of evidence- neither did they get a verbal accusation out of you."

"I didn't know the implications of what I said." Dick muttered. "I thought all of that just meant sleeping. Holding each other. Comforting each other in those nights when the nightmares get to you."

Bruce stayed silent for so long that Dick was afraid he'd not get an answer. Then Bruce whispered. "I apologize. I won't do that again. I'll also refrain from physical contact."

Fear sank in so quickly that Dick felt like suffocating. He jumped out of bed, wrapping his arms around Bruce's waist. "Please, not that. Never that. I need your touch. I need it."

He felt Bruce's hand ghost over his skin, almost like he was going to comb his hair like he did before, once or twice. But ultimately he dropped it and gently pried Dick away.

"Dick."

"I won't let go. Until you make your promise."

The hand that ghosted over his head so long finally came down to soothingly comb through his hair. Dick felt relief wash over him in a soft tide.

Bruce knelt down and looked him in the eye. "Dick, understand this. A man who is and feels innocent through and through cannot be hurt by baseless speculation. I am-" He swallowed, looking away briefly. "I cannot say that I am a hundred per cent that man. For that you should be wary of me."

Dick couldn't say he understood that, at all.

"I-"

He was silenced by a kiss on his forehead.

"But," Bruce added with a small smile. "I'm always trying to do the right thing. Those accusations you hear about- they will never come true. I promise you that."

He picked Dick up and put him back in bed. "You'll understand when you're older. Good night, Dick."


End file.
